© 2012 Oliver John-Rodgers (OJR) 


My best friend’s father told us, he said

“The two things never filled: your wallet and bed”

And I think I get that now

Every night in this city

‘Cause I always want more

And I always feel shitty

So I think I’ll just let the pretty girls be pretty

And I’ll stop getting gone

Man, who am I kidding?

It’s easy for a little, 'til my buddy calls me

And says, “Meet me in Midtown, on 43rd St.”

And he hands me a vial

To feel good for a while

'Til I’m hungry and longing for home

When I crawl back shaking

I feel my bones breaking

I’m sweating and aching and cold


So I’m staying in tonight

And I’m cleaning my room

And I’m calling my mom

To see how she’s doin’

And my little brother, too

'Cause I miss him, that guy

And next weekend I’m taking the Metro-North line

And I’ll get up to Kingston to stay with some family

And I’ll get myself cleaned up while I still can

And I’ll go to church on Sunday with my nana and my poppy

And all I’ll drink all weekend will be water and black coffee

And Evan, I’ll respond, though so late, man, I’m sorry

I hope Europe is great, and damn it, I’m stalling

To take the two minutes to write back a card

Why do I make caring so hard?


But I wish a happy birthday

You deserve it, first friend

And I’ll be waiting right here for when you’re in the States again

And we won’t take no shots, not unless you want to

And we’ll walk around the city and do what you wanna do

'Cause I’m always being selfish and denying it inside

Yeah, my ex used to tell me that I’m meanest in my pride

And it’s times like tonight when I see that and hide

No, don’t make me go out

I can’t handle that ride

So I say, “Boy, shut up and deal

And get out of that bed

And do whatever it takes, man

To get back your head

'Cause the rest, it hardly matters

Making body feel fed

And your wallet’s just a pit

Like Mr. Libuit said”

But if I’ll never fill it

Should I bother with trying?

If the industry’s fingers are so greedy and so prying?

But my dad signed my papers

Sold our souls to some banks

Then his stupid bank fucked him

Though he’d earned his good rank

Now an honest man struggles

To find work that he knows

While some fat-cat bastard

Denies undeniable woes

“There aren’t any problems here

Just your laziness, fools”

Which is easy to say 'til your thread’s off the spool

And you're flailing for air

In the deepest debt pool

Then who, you sick hypocrite, is truly the fool?

So I write and pass out

I wake up and start again

With the hopes that they notice

That those sleazy, rich men

Will approve of my work

Yeah, will offer to pay

For the risk that I took

When I came here that day

And I’ll send Frank his money

And I’ll shut up those crooks

And I’ll pay back everything, to the last textbook

Yeah, I’ll pay back everything

One day, man, I swear

And I’ll go back to Virginia

And I’ll settle down there

But 'til then I’m up here

Locked up in my room

Searching for the key

To get myself out soon